


a sprinkling of salt

by Cloudnine101



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal and Cooking, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"It doesn't matter. People can think what they like of us." Will straightens, and takes Hannibal's face in his hands. "Hannibal."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sprinkling of salt

Hannibal finds Will in the kitchen, which isn't a surprise. He's wiping his hands down on Hannibal's apron, smiling that contented little smile - the one that means he's happy, and he's calm, and there's absolutely nobody else watching.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal says, and Will starts. He looks around, neck twisting. His face goes through the motions - shock, surprise, etc - before settling down into placid contentment. He's even still grimacing a little.

"Hello," Will says, and turns back to the vegetables. There's a long stream of raw pepper on the sideboard. "I thought you might be hungry, so I - if I'm staying the night, I mean - "

Hannibal cuts off the flurry. "Of course," he says.

Will looks at the space behind him on the wall, which is an improvement on the floor tiles. "Thanks," he says.

Hannibal nods. "Of course," he says again, and steps forward. "I didn't expect you to be in here."

This is a lie. Will hadn't expected Hannibal to _see_ him here. The difference is so minute, however, that Hannibal doesn't see fit to point it out.

Will laughs softly to himself, nervousness blooming in his posture. "Yeah," he says. "I do a bit of cooking. Sometimes. The dogs get hungry."

Hannibal supposes this is Will's attempt at a joke, so he laughs as well. "Quite," he says. "May I help?"

Will's eyes flicker to him, and away. "If you like," he says, but his shoulders are up high, and his hands are in his pockets.

"I'm not going to force you into anything." Hannibal stops himself, a few feet away from Will's shoulder. "Will."

Will's eyes close, for a second, and then they open again, and he says, "You can help."

 _Hannibal_. The word lies between them, unspoken. 

Hannibal keeps his gaze steady. "Thank you," he says. "What can I do?"

Will shrugs, helpless. "Finish the peppers, I suppose," he says. "I'd better - " He waves a hand towards the oven.

Hannibal hums. Will crouches down to turn on the oven. His hands are still.

"You're welcome," Hannibal says, and does it for him. The edges of their hands brush, so that their palms skim together. "Who was it this time?"

"Nobody," Will says.

"Tell me the truth."

Will chews on his lip, and says, "It doesn't matter. People can think what they like of us." Will straightens, and takes Hannibal's face in his hands. "Hannibal."

Hannibal smiles, and tilts his chin up. "Nobody?"

Will looks to the left, and to the right. He seems to be deliberating. "They didn't say anything. It was fine."

"But they implied?" Hannibal stands. He takes Will's hands in his open, and presses a kiss to each of the knuckles. Will's eyelids flap. "You don't have to stand for it."

"I know," Will says. "If they have an issue, that's their - I think the oven's ready, now. Excuse me."

Will's lashes fan out across his cheeks. This, Hannibal supposes, means that conversation is over.

Hannibal crowds Will backwards, and kisses him. Will is made breathless. " _Ah_ ," he says. His mouth is soft and pliant. Hannibal peppers a string of adoration down his throat. Will's knuckles are white against the counter.

"Ah," Hannibal agrees, tracing the curve of Will's throat with his finger. "You do so fascinate me. Your capacity to forgive."

Will chuckles. "You'd be round there with a meat cleaver," he says. 

Hannibal laughs, at that. "Do you think so little of me?" he says. "I'd use a steak knife at the least." This time, Will's bark is genuine. Hannibal is satisfied. He steps away; Will's eyes follow. They're hooded. "The vegetables?"

Will blinks, snapping back to himself. Hannibal turns his face to the wall.

"Right," Will says, "I'll - just - "

"Take your time," Hannibal says; Will fumbles for the peppers, sliding them onto metal. "Will."

Will drops the grill pan with a clank. "Oh," he says, and smiles crookedly. "Sorry."

Stooping, Hannibal pokes around in the wreckage. "Salvageable, I should think," he says, "with a sprinkling of salt."

He stands upright, and when he looks, Will is smiling at him. It's enough to make him smile back, almost.

"You did that on purpose," Will says.

Hannibal shrugs, and sighs. "Why would you even think such a thing?"

Will's mouth opens. "You're - you - "

"As I said," Hannibal says. "A sprinkling of salt."

Will doesn't have the decency to look surprised. "You'll be the death of me," he says.

"Perhaps," Hannibal replies.

Will hits him with a tea towel. Repeatedly. 

 

 

 

(They do eat the peppers, later - thankfully saltless. Will has his off Hannibal's fork.)


End file.
